Now, more than ever.

2003.11.28

Ol' Buttermilk Pie

experts predict busy Thanksgiving for the finger thing

I’m aware that readers of this blog may see me as a prickbastard incisive social commentator. Looking back over my recent posts, I’ve called people dorks, dipshits and morons. If you’ve come to the conclusion that I am cold and cynical, I offer this.

There. Now I feel I can insult people with impunity for another six months at least.

I was privileged to spend Thanksgiving with the Prices, who along with having a highly admirable family tradition involving buttermilk pie (and yes Dad, we sang that to the tune of the Hoagie Carmichael song), are one of the most pleasant groups of conversationalists you could hope to meet. In addition to a whole lot of just darned smart and funny people, our group of turkey worriers included an esteemed author and an eminent historian. So what did we discuss ‘round the table?

Michael Jackson.

Consensus: whether or not he’s guilty, he probably should have stopped inviting kids for sleepovers a long time ago.

What, and have you put my eye out? No way. I'll leave that to the Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle, scheduled to appear any damned minute on television sets everywhere, including the Price's, the Thomas's, and Hell.